


Souvenir

by techtchr



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-09
Updated: 2011-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-24 11:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/techtchr/pseuds/techtchr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three weeks after the beach, Erik and Charles meet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from fanfiction.net. The first chapter in this story was originally posted on June 5, two days after "First Class" opened in the U.S., and the entire work was completed in just under two weeks; making it one of the first multi-chapter "First Class" fics.

_I can't feel my legs._ Charles' plaintive words cut like a razor through the small group of mutants gathered around their injured young leader.

Alex clenched his hands into fists. "He needs to be in a hospital, now, but how are we going to get him to one? An overground trek to the nearest Cuban hospital would be pretty rough on him, never mind what would happen to him when we got there."

"And to us," Sean started.

"With your red hair, you'd never pass for a local," Alex retorted.

"Like you would," Sean replied.

Hank cut them off. "I could take him. In this body, I'm strong enough and fast enough."

"Talking about me like I'm not here is not making me feel better," Charles said with weak smile. Slowly, he brought his hand up to his head, closing his eyes in concentration. He shoved his fear for himself into the background, reaching for the serenity that would help him focus his mind. He reached out as far as his abilities allowed, but only faint echoes of distant minds came back to him.

"Too far," he sighed, his hand dropping back to the ground. He felt too weak to open his eyes again.

Moira spoke from her position on the ground, cradling Charles' head. "Then we have only have once choice." She nodded in the direction of the warships off the beach. "We have to ask them for help."

"But they're the ones caused this," Hank protested. "This wouldn't have happened if they hadn't tried to kill all of us."

"I know," Moira responded. "But they're his only chance." She was no nurse, but she had enough field medical training to know that Charles was fading: his breathing getting slower and shallower; his blood disappearing into the sand from the wound in his back. She put her face close to his. "Charles, are you strong enough to persuade them?"

After a long moment, his eyes blinked open to meet hers. "I can do it," he replied, in his earnest way that had so endeared him to her.

Moira nodded briskly, easing his head off of her lap and into a pillow of sand. Then she sprinted to the wreckage of their jet.

Thank God the radio survived, she thought, grabbing the handset. "U.S. command ship, please come in," she called. "This is Agent Moira McTaggert of the United States Central Intelligence Agency. I have wounded and friendlies in need of immediate evacuation. Over."

Clinging to consciousness, Charles frowned, reaching out with his thoughts to the commander of the US ships offshore. "Answer her," he implored. "Say yes." His concern was not for himself, but for the stranded mutants with him. As Americans, they could not expect kind treatment from the Cuban authorities should they be captured.

Moira's radio crackled. "Agent McTaggert, we hear you." She sagged in relief. "What is your situation?"

"One wounded friendly needing medivac with possible," she paused and grimaced, "uh, probable spinal injury. Myself and three other friendlies needing evacuation."

 _Say yes. Help her,_ Charles willed in the direction of the ships. He was so very, very tired, and and it would have been easy to sink into the quiet darkness floating beneath him. But he held on, sending his urgent message to the ships beyond: _help her_ , over and over like a mantra.

"Agent McTaggert, we have two landing boats on their way to you now, one equipped for medivac. Have your friendlies move into plain sight and lay down any weapons. Any movement perceived to be a threat will be met with lethal force. Is that understood? Over."

"Repeat that all here are friendlies, don't shoot, over," Moira pleaded, hoping that Charles could make the commander believe even if her words did not.

Hank watched with apprehension as the landing boats approached. "Caught between the Devil and the deep blue sea," he muttered to himself.

The two small boats pulled onto shore. A contingent of Marines spilled out, moving quickly to surround the mutants. "Down!" shouted the lead Marine, a sergeant. "Hands on your head!"

"We're friendlies," Moira shouted in response, but obeyed, dropping to her knees and putting her hands on her head. The mutants, however, were not so willing.

"Thought we were being evacuated," Alex retorted. "Not captured."

"You will get down or we will open fire."

"Quit wasting time. Our friend needs help," Hank objected.

The Marine sergeant held his ground. "This is the only way he's getting help."

Grudgingly, the three mutants joined Moira on her knees, putting their hands on their hands. Once they were down, the soldiers relaxed a bit, turning their weapons down and assuming a less threatening posture. Only then did the medical crew move to help Charles.

"Careful," Moira called out, trying to catch a glimpse of Charles between the legs of the surrounding soldiers. "He's been shot in the spine." To her relief, the medivac team was both efficient and gentle. A pressure bandage was applied, then they deftly slid a backboard under Charles and strapped him to it with a minimum of motion. One tried to pull Charles' hand away from his forehead, but was surprised to find resistance from the seemingly sensless man.

"Must be a terrible headache," the medic thought to himself. Hoping not to cause the man additional pain, the medic settled for strapping his arm in place, fingertips still touching his temple.

Hovering on the edge of consciousness, Charles was struggling to broadcast his calming message. "They are friendly; help them, don't be afraid." But as he was lifted from the sand, he lost the battle. With a soft sigh, his hand dropped from his temple and he slid into oblivion.

The effect on the soldiers on the beach was instantaneous. Their weapons, which had been pointed down, suddenly snapped up and trained on the mutants. "Secure them," the Marine leader ordered.

"Hey!" Sean started to stand, but only got halfway up before he was clubbed on the shoulder.

"Stay down!" another Marine yelled.

"Stop!" Moira called, "they're on our side. Why are you doing this?"

"They are dangerous, miss. We've seen what they can do, and we only have your word that they're not going to tear us all to pieces."

Hank exploded in a ferocious growl and the Marine that had been attempting to handcuff him jumped back. "Dangerous! You are the ones who tried to bomb the beach AFTER we prevented a nuclear war and saved every one of your sorry lives!" Next to him, Alex and Sean took their hands from their heads and prepared to to spring into action.

The Marine sergeant lifted his arm and aimed his weapon at Charles. The medics carrying Charles froze in place, staring at the sergeant in shock. "You will surrender and be taken into custody now or I will finish what someone else started with your friend."

Moira was indignant. "That man is a friendly, but even if he was a hostile prisoner of war, you still couldn't shoot him, unarmed and unconscious."

The sergeant's eyes narrowed. "That man is a mutant and I will shoot him if I feel the need to protect my men."

After a tense moment, Hank dropped his head in surrender and put his hands back on his head, allowing himself to be handcuffed. "You win, for now. But you had better take damn good care of him. If he doesn't survive, if he is harmed in any way, I will tear your ship into tiny pieces and you along with it."

"You won't have to," Alex corrected, "because I will have blown it to hell before then."


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later, Hank woke in a holding cell deep inside a U.S. Navy ship. With a start, he realized that the constant hum of the ship's engines had stopped. Alarmed at the sudden lack of motion and what it might mean, Hank leapt from his cot and started banging on door of the cell he shared with Sean and Alex. In response, Moira's face appeared at the door of the next cell.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"We've stopped," Hank replied. "Probably at a naval base in northern Florida, given how quickly we got here. I suspect they're getting ready to unload us. And we have no idea where Charles is or how he's doing."

"Or what they're doing _to_ him," Alex added. "He should have tried to contact us." The mental absence from Charles over the past two days had them all worried. They had taken turns sleeping; one of them always alert and listening for him, but there had been only silence.

Hank called to the guard standing outside the door. "Hey! Tell your superior that we want to see Charles Xavier, now."

"Prisoners don't give commands," the guard replied, pointedly turning his head away from them.

Hank's response was an angry growl. Sean took a deep breath and sent a sustained sonic pulse, calculated precisely to shove the guard into the wall and pin him there.

"Let's try that again." Hank said. "We want to see Charles Xavier, NOW!" Two more guards began moving to protect the first, weapons drawn. Alex widened his stance and prepared to burst into flame.

"They were promised that he wouldn't be harmed!" Moira called to the guards, hoping to calm the situation. "Just let us see him and confirm it for ourselves."

One of the guards glared at her. "What's the mutant to you, babe?"

"That's 'agent' to _you_ , seaman, and their continued cooperation depends on it," she warned. "You really don't want them to stop cooperating." She glanced over at the other brig. "Sean, show them some cooperation and let the man down now." Sean abruptly dropped the man to the floor with a satisfied smirk.

"Agent McTaggert goes to see him, along with one of us, or we will tear this ship apart," Hank threatened, his voice deceptively calm. He wrapped his claws around the window bars. "Don't you dare try to move him or us off this ship before we see him." Hank was beginning to enjoy his new form's ability to command respect and even fear in tough-guy types. The seaman paled a bit, and quickly placed a call to his superior.

Their demand, and its accompanying threat, went up the chain of command and the response came back down in record time. Surrounded by guards, Hank and Moira were taken to see Charles. They found him in a curtained-off section of the ship's infirmary, strapped into a traction bed and still unconscious.

"You can see he's no threat," Moira said to the lead guard. "Can't you give us a moment with him?" She put on her best pleading look: sometimes being a woman had its advantages. "Please?"

The seaman shifted uncomfortably, looking at the still form in the bed. "Five minutes," he replied; then signaled his team to leave the room. They took up positions just outside the door, with only the attending physician remaining in the room.

Moira wrapped her hand around Charles' hand and squeezed, gently. There was no answering squeeze in response. Moira glared at the attending physician. "Why isn't he awake?"

"With his injury, keeping him still is very important. An induced coma the best way to assure no further harm to his spinal column," the physician responded, blinking rapidly.

Moira huffed. "I don't have to be psychic to know that you're lying. The traction is taking care of keeping him still. I am a federal agent and I want the truth, now. Why are you really keeping him unconscious?"

Hank glared at the doctor and growled softly. The man took an involuntary step backward.

"I have orders to keep him under," the ship's physician finally admitted. "Command is concerned about his ability to influence the crew's thoughts if he were awake."

Hank studied the bags attached to Charles' IV. Ignoring the physician's startled protest; he suddenly selected one and clamped it off. "That should do it," he told Moira. "Based on the dosage, it'll be several hours before he wakes up." The doctor made a small move as though to restart the IV, but Hank warned him off with a single raised finger.

"Then we have a minute to talk about him," Moira said, treating the doctor to the look she reserved for questioning suspected traitors. "And I want the full truth, the first time. He said he couldn't feel his legs. Is he paralyzed?"

"Unless he's got some sort of mutant healing powers, then, yes." The doctor replied, his eyes darting nervously from the blue beast to the only slightly less threatening CIA agent. "Whatever made that injury – we didn't find anything in surgery – completely severed his spinal column between the T10 and T11 vertebrae. That's total paralysis from the waist down."

"The traction?" she asked, without any real hope.

"Just to help the spine heal as straight as possible. It won't knit the nerves back together."

Moira ducked her head to hide the tears building in her eyes. She suddenly realized that she was still holding Charles' hand. _I fired the bullet that did this to him_.

Hank broke the silence that followed the harsh diagnosis. "Keeping him in an artificially-induced coma does not fall into our definition of quality care," he warned the doctor. "Tell your commander that one of us stays with him from now on. That's the price of our continued cooperation."

"There may be many people in this world for you to fear," Moira added, "but Charles Xavier is not one of them. He is never going to walk again because he fought to keep the missiles you fired from returning to your ships. He saved your life. And he deserves better treatment. From this moment on, you _are_ going to let me or one of his team stay with him at all times. One of us will be with him when he wakes up. And he will wake up soon because you're _not_ going to drug him anymore. Got it?"

And so an hour later, when a still unconscious Charles Xavier was carefully moved from the ship to a nearby military hospital, he was accompanied by Hank. Alex was with him when his eyes first fluttered open, blinking in confusion at the unfamiliar, sterile-white room. Sean was with him when the doctor came in to explain the diagnosis – unnecessarily, of course, since he had already discerned the news from the minds of those around him. But it was still nice to have a sympathetic face in the room, a real physical presence to reassure him beyond the mental touch of his friends. After their time with him, each of the mutants returned to a solitary holding cell, willingly paying the price of their freedom to buy Charles protection.

Moira, though she was free to go, sat with Charles that first rough night, when he struggled in his sleep against the traction bed and woke up in a sweat, only remembering that he was paralyzed when he tried to kick against the straps holding him prisoner. She was with him for the next night's nightmare, when he relived the moment that Sebastian died; forcing Charles to choose between holding the man still as Erik _executed_ him (there was no other word for it), or releasing Shaw to attack and possibly kill Erik. Did Erik realize that Charles was mentally present as Shaw died, suffering the full measure of pain and horror that Shaw suffered? Would it even have made a difference, given the depth of his hatred for Shaw? Charles didn't know, and the thought plagued him. For all his psychic abilities, he had failed to see the depths of darkness in the man.

But during those difficult first days following Charles' injury, it was Hank who brought him the most comfort. Hank filled some of the space that Erik had left, particularly in his ability to use humor and banter to lift Charles' spirits. When he saw that Charles was struggling with despair, Hank reminded him that at least he still had his good looks, unlike a certain someone who had managed to turn themselves into a blue ape. Charles laughed softly, and replied that at least he wasn't a psychic who had failed to foresee the path of a bullet in time to get out of the way.

Most importantly, Hank seemed to understand when Charles needed quiet and space to grieve his losses: the loss of his mobility, and what that might mean for any hope of wife or family; as well as the loss of his friendship with Erik, and the woman he saw as his sister. She was far, far away - beyond his ability to reach her for the first time since they had met as children. He had done the right thing in letting her go, he was sure; but he missed her terribly.

 _Raven, Raven,_ he called to her, but there was no answer.


	3. Chapter 3

Charles wasn't the only one having nightmares. Far away, Raven was also dreaming. She was a young girl again, just as she had been when she first met Charles. But this time, no boy with a baseball bat greeted her as she explored his darkened mansion. From the kitchen she went through the dining room and into his library, but he wasn't there. He wasn't in his bedroom, either. She ran down deserted corridors, throwing open doors into empty rooms.

"Charles," she called as she ran, hearing only the echo of her own voice in response to her increasingly frantic search. Then she threw open one last door, and blinked in confusion as she stepped onto a sun-splashed Caribbean beach. But this was no idyllic scene. Smoke curled up against the cloudless sky; chunks of twisted metal littered the sands. Her heart clenched within her as she was drawn, against her will, to a small knot of people clustered around something – someone – sprawled on the sand. She knew what she would see, dreaded it, and yet she couldn't stop.

Suddenly, she was there, looking down on him as he gasped for breath. His bright blue eyes lifted to meet hers, full of pain and sorrow. She sank to her knees beside him and took his hand.

"Raven," he whispered, and then his eyes closed. He sighed once, shuddered, and died. She screamed.

And then she sat up in her bed – in the secluded lake house where Erik had hidden them. Erik was there, wrapping his arms around her and rocking her as though she were a little girl.

"He's dead," she sobbed. "I saw it. We left Charles there and he – and he –"

"No, he's not," Erik replied calmly. "I'm sure of it. He was hurt, but his wound wasn't fatal. He's probably back at home right now in that mansion of his."

Raven shook her head. "But I saw –"

Erik pulled back from the hug and looked her in the eyes. "Whatever you saw, it was just a dream."

She glared. "Have you heard him, since then?" Erik glanced down without answering. "Then how can you know?" Raven insisted.

"Tell, me, Raven, do you know his natural range? The farthest that he has ever been able to project his mind without Cerebro?"

Raven considered for a moment. "He told me that he could reach about 250 miles, though I don't think he can actually control someone from that far away."

"And where are we?"

She rolled her eyes. "Montana."

"Which is at least 250 miles from anywhere. He's fine." Erik insisted again, squeezing her hands and tucking away that vital bit of information for future reference.

"I have to _know_ ," Raven replied. "I have to see him and know that he's all right. Please."

Erik sighed, taking in the slightly darker shade of blue under her eyes from too many sleepless nights. "I will take you to visit the mansion tomorrow. Are you sure that you want this?"

She brightened. "I love road trips!"

"That's not what I meant. You know that you can't stay with him, not with things like they are. You will see that he's all right; then we'll leave."

"But Erik," Raven started.

"I know what you want to do," Erik interrupted, putting a finger gently to her lips. "You miss him, and you want to convince him to join us. Don't you know your brother better than that?"

Raven reached up and took his hand, bringing it back down to her lap. "I know that Charles is an idealist," she replied, "and that's how _you_ see him. But he's smart, too, and he's realistic. He just needs time to think about it, you know? Snap decisions aren't his thing. If we give him a little time, we can make him see reason. "

"I am not so sure about that," Erik replied, thinking to himself that Charles had made a whole series of snap decisions in the short time he'd known the man, and wondering just how well Raven understood her almost-brother. "But if _you're_ sure about this, we will leave for the mansion in the morning. I think it would be best if it was just the two of us, though. Given the carnage they caused at the CIA facility, I doubt he is ready to trust the others."

She hugged him tightly in gratitude. "You understand me better than anyone. Thank you."

So in the morning, Raven and Erik made their goodbyes to the remnant's of Shaw's team. The three mutants were not at all happy about the plan to split up, expressing a combination of concern about a trap waiting for them at Charles' mansion and mistrust in their new leader's ability to stay on their side.

Erik sought to reassure them. "Twice, Charles made it my choice to stay with his team, or to leave. He gave Raven the freedom to come with us. He's not going to force either one of us back. It's not his nature."

"Unless you are in a fight with the humans," Azazel pointed out. "Then he sides with them."

Erik smiled tightly. "I am not planning on a fight with humans on _this_ trip. But perhaps you should let me know how to contact you if I find myself in need of assistance."

* * *

When Raven and Erik arrived at Charles' mansion in New York three days later, they found the place as it was in her nightmares: deserted and cold under a grey October sky.

"We'll find him," Erik assured her. "Finding people is one of my many talents." He rifled through the stack of papers on Charles' writing desk. "Ah, here's something useful," he said, lifting a piece of paper and showing it to Raven. "A bank statement. Banks can be very effective in locating people, even when they don't want to be found."

But the bank was ultimately no help. Raven disguised herself as Charles, and succeeded in getting a look at his most recently-cleared checks. They were all from the days before the mutant recruitment had begun. Charles had needed only a small amount of cash to cover personal expenses since the CIA was paying the major costs, and he had left no trail for them to follow.

But Erik remained undaunted by this small setback. Moira McTaggert almost certainly knew where Charles was. They just had to find her, and she would lead them to him. Raven and Erik took up the hunt at the sparkling new CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. They ambushed an agent in a remote section of the parking lot, leaving the man tied up in his trunk, while Raven assumed his identity and entered the building unchallenged.

She searched the building for hours, briefly assuming new identities to explore additional areas as she spotted CIA employees taking smoke breaks or heading to the bathroom. If it weren't for her concern for Charles, the whole thing would have been a groovy game. But after narrowly escaping meeting her other self in an elevator, the fun wore off and Raven fled the building. There had been no sign of Moira.

"Finding Charles would be easier if we had him with us," Raven pouted as she climbed into the waiting car.

"I've been thinking about that," Erik replied. "I've gotten fond of being able to know what my adversaries are thinking. Being without him makes me feel a little – blind." He paused, and then decided to change the subject. "What have you learned about our CIA friend?"

"Not much. As far as I can tell, she's nowhere in the building. I found her personnel file in this giant filing room, but it was mostly full of boring stuff." Then Raven shot Erik a dazzling smile and waved a piece of paper. "But I did get the number of her government-issued American Express card. What was that you were saying about banks?"

A few well-placed phone calls later, Erik discovered several recent charges on Moira's card at a diner in Pensacola, Florida. "We've got her!" he announced.

* * *

They drove into Pensacola late in the night about three weeks after they'd last seen Charles. Erik checked them into separate rooms in a small motel; the only one they could find open at that hour. Raven was exhausted and tumbled into bed without even brushing her teeth.

As she slept, she dreamed again of Charles and that terrible day on the beach. This time, she was watching as he and Erik fought. It was a ridiculous fight, really; Charles was no match for Erik's superior size and strength. But even after Erik had driven him down with two ringing blows to the head, Charles struggled to get up and keep fighting. As he staggered to his feet, time slowed to a crawl. Her feet were frozen to the ground, and she could only watch helplessly as Moira emerged from the plane, took aim and started firing. She tried to warn Charles, but couldn't make a sound. Charles jerked from the bullet's impact and gave a strangled cry, its echo mixing with her own scream as he fell. She woke up screaming.

In his darkened hospital room, Charles' eyes flew open. "Raven," he whispered.

"Charles?" Moira asked softly, leaning over him. "What is it?"

"I feel her Moira, she's close."

Moira reached over and turned on the small desk lamp next to Charles' bed. "Are you sure? You've been dreaming of her for the past several nights, you know."

He nodded. "I'm sure." Then he closed his eyes, and brought his fingers to his temple in concentration. "She's close, and she's not alone."


	4. Chapter 4

Charles reached out to Raven, feeling her joy when she recognized his mental touch.

 _Raven_ , he sent, _oh, I've missed you._

A wave of regret surged back. _I've missed you, too. I'm so sorry that we just left you there._

 _It's all right now, don't worry about that. Where are you?_ He requested the information, rather than simply taking it, as had been their pact since childhood.

 _Close by_ , she replied, _and I want to see you. Tell me where you are._

 _Are you alone?_ Charles was apprehensive at seeing Erik's deadly new friends, despite their claims of 'mutant brotherhood.'

 _Erik is here with me. But no one else. We both want to see you, just to know that you're all right._

But he wasn't all right. Charles grimaced. He wanted to see her so badly, but it wasn't safe for them to come onto the base now; for them or for the innocent hospital staff that might be caught in any crossfire. And he wanted to spare her seeing him in traction.

 _I'm – fine,_ he sent, hoping it was convincing. _But the others and I are, uh, guests of the Navy while the authorities sort everything out. This isn't the best time for a visit._

She gave a mental shriek. _Are you prisoners?_

 _Only for the moment_ , Charles responded. _Just go, but let me know where you and Erik will be. I'll contact you as soon as I am able._

Raven was furious. _Like hell you will. We have NOT been driving for days to see you, just to get a brush-off. Tell me where you are, right now. I am going to see you. I can get in and out, and they'll never even know I was there._

 _Soon, but just not now._

 _Why, are you deformed or something? Did Hank turn you blue and furry? I'd like to see that! Now tell me where you are!_

 _Raven, I'm so glad that you're safe and you're nearby. I've missed you more than you know. But please, don't make me say anything more. Just go. I promise I'll be in touch as soon as I can._ With a pang of regret, he broke the mental connection.

Raven pounded on the door to Erik's room. "Something's seriously wrong," she announced as he opened it, still wrapping his robe around him. "Charles is here, but he doesn't want to see us."

Erik's eyebrows shot up. He put two fingers to his temple in imitation of Charles. "You communicated?"

"I was dreaming about him, and then he was just there, in my mind. I guess he heard me. He said that he and the others are guests of the Navy and told us to go."

"He knows I'm here, too?"

"It's not like I could keep it a secret from him. We've only got the one helmet."

"Well, perhaps we should take his advice and go. You have what you wanted: his own assurance that he is fine."

Raven glared at Erik. "But he is not fine. The whole conversation was just wrong. I think he was lying to me, hiding something. At the very least they're holding him prisoner. "

"Your brother is very capable of taking care of himself. If he said he's fine, and we should go, then we should."

"I am not abandoning him again." She stormed back towards the door. "Take off if you want to, but I'm going to see him."

Life with the tempestuous Raven was proving to be more difficult than Erik had imagined. Even with his calm temperament, he wondered how Charles had ever managed it. Erik was sure that if Charles' abilities were intact, no military base could hold him. But convincing Raven of that seemed impossible.

Erik dropped his head in surrender. "If we're going to infiltrate a U.S. naval base, I'll need a suitable outfit."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After a quick trip to a nearby Army-Navy store the next morning, Erik was dressed as a first lieutenant in the U.S. Navy, complete with the ribbons and decorations appropriate for a young naval officer. Raven transformed herself into a fellow lieutenant, as Erik felt that two officers of the same rank travelling together would be natural and therefore less likely to draw attention. Since they did not have the necessary identification cards, they had to find a secluded spot and enter the facility on foot.

As Erik bent the wire fence back together behind them, erasing any evidence of their intrusion, Raven studied the facility spread out before them. The base was huge, and they had no idea where to start looking without any guidance from Charles. They skirted the enormous warships anchored at the dock, and headed for a cluster of buildings that looked promising.

Then they got lucky. Erik's sharp eyes spotted a flash of blue fur. It was Hank, surrounded by a group of guards and being led towards a white building in the distance. They moved to catch up as quickly as they dared.

"It's a hospital," Raven whispered, as they drew closer and could make out the signs on the building. For some reason, the thought struck fear into her. Was Hank injured or sick? Or were they doing something horrible to him? And then a new thought occurred to her. Surely, Charles wasn't still in the hospital after three weeks?

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Hank got to Charles' room, he found the telepath alert and anxious. Charles focused on the guards. "Leave the room," he commanded. "Wait outside."

"What is it?" Hank asked when they were alone, looking around for any sign of trouble.

"Raven and Erik are on the base," Charles replied, "and they're going to be here very soon."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Get me out of this traction. I don't want them to see me like this."

"But, your spine…" Hank started.

"…has had three weeks to heal," Charles interrupted. "No matter how much longer I'm trussed up, I am not getting the feeling back in my legs. Getting out of bed now will not change that." He paused for a moment, clenching the sheets in his fists.

"Hank, I've been listening to the doctors. They are going to do this in a few more days; I'm just hurrying the process a bit. Now, just get me out of this bed and into that chair by the window. I want to look as…"

"Normal?" Hank raised an eyebrow.

Charles responded with a wistful smile. "Yes, as normal as possible."

Hank shook his head. He understood the desire to hide an unpleasant truth, as well as the ultimate futility of doing so. "You're not going to be able to keep this a secret forever, which I guess is why you're not just," he trailed off, then waggled his fingers by his head to complete the thought. "But even if you're not outright lying to her, Raven's going to be very angry when she does find out. So, is this really about protecting her, or is it about you?"

"Ouch," Charles laughed. "I haven't got an answer for that." He looked up at Hank with a mock-pleading expression. "All right. I'm just not ready for this. Please?"

"Fine," Hank conceded. "At least let me find a back brace for you. You're going to need the support."

Charles put his fingers to his temple, and closed his eyes. After a brief moment, he opened them again. "One is on the way. Now, you'd better get started."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once Raven and Erik were close to the building, Charles saw no further point in maintaining his mental silence. So he reached out to Raven's mind, guiding them to him by the safest possible route. At the same time, he directed the hospital staff out of the hallway, so that they had an unimpeded path to his room. Hank had just finished putting the back brace on him and easing him into a robe when Charles warned him softly, "They're almost here."

Hank swept Charles up and deposited him in the chair where Moira usually sat, and then threw the covers over the traction bed. When he turned back to Charles to check on his comfort, he was startled to see tears forming in the red-rimmed blue eyes.

"Charles," he said gently. "It's not always going to be like this. Someday soon you're going to be able to get yourself from a bed to a chair without any help. It's going to take time, but you will learn to be independent."

Charles put a hand to his face and wiped away the tears. "And here I thought that I was the only telepath in the room," he said with a small laugh. "Evidently I was wrong."

Just at that moment, Erik pushed the door open. Raven rushed past him, reverting back to her natural form, and ran to Charles.

He held out his arms to welcome her. "Raven!"

Wordlessley, she bent down and allowed him to pull her into a fierce embrace. Charles stroked her head and breathed in the scent of her hair, reveling in the simple comfort of her presence. "I've missed you."

She drew back, and her expression was accusing. "Then why didn't you want us to see you?"

Charles laughed. "Because I'm an idiot, I suppose."

She slapped him on the arm. "Damn right you are."

Charles looked over at the man standing behind her, and gave a reassuring smile. "Good to see you, too." He put out his right hand in welcome, and Erik clasped it. Then, Charles' expression turned serious.

"No helmet?" Charles asked.

"Didn't go with the outfit," Erik responded. "Do I need it?"

"Not planning on committing acts of destruction, are you?"

"Not today," Erik replied, allowing a bit of humor to creep into his tone.

"Well then, nothing to worry about," Charles smiled. "Now tell me, how did you two manage to track us down?"

Raven launched into the story, describing every aspect of their road trip in detail. But as she talked, Charles began to feel light-headed. Just sitting in the chair was wearying: he hadn't realized the effect of being bedridden for nearly three weeks. He started to put a hand up to support his head; then realizing how that would appear to Erik, dropped his hand again.

Erik noticed the small gesture. It drew his attention to Charles' odd appearance. His posture was unnaturally stiff, and he was pale, with a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. Usually very proper, Charles was still sitting while Raven was standing. Erik looked over at the hospital bed, noticing how strangely flat it was. Before Hank or Charles could protest, he reached over and flipped off the covers. Raven gasped when she saw what was underneath: it looked more like a torture rack than a bed.

"What is this?" Erik demanded.

Charles looked at the bed and shook his head, but said nothing.

"Don't tell me that this isn't what it looks like. This is a damn traction bed." Erik studied Charles for a long moment, as though attempting to read his mind. Then his eyes narrowed.

"Charles, stand up."

Hank buried his face in his paws.

Raven stared at Erik, her eyes wide and confused at his demand and at Hank's reaction. She looked back at her brother. "Charles?"

His shoulders sagged. "Raven, I wanted to spare you this," he said softly. "I wanted to spare you both."

Erik bent over Charles, putting one hand on each arm of the chair. He stopped when his nose was just inches from Charles' own. "Say it."

Hank grabbed Erik's shoulder and tried to pull him away. "Stop it, Erik."

Erik used one hand to shove him away; then lifted the bed and pinned Hank against the wall. He turned back to Charles. "Say it."

Charles closed his eyes in defeat. "Say what? That I can't stand up?" Then he looked up and met Erik's glare with a challenge of his own. "Is that what you wanted to hear? That I'm paralyzed. Permanently."

Erik gave a cry of rage, grabbing his head as though he would pull out his hair. With his momentary loss of focus, he released the metal bed, allowing it and Hank to fall to the floor.

Raven sank down next to Charles, wrapping her arms around his knees and laying her head in his lap. "Oh, my God, Charles," she sobbed, "oh my God."

"You are an idiot," Erik snapped at Charles. "I told you that I didn't want to hurt you. But you just wouldn't stop, would you? Had to save the world, didn't you? Then they'd accept us; then they'd accept you. Isn't that right, Saint Charles?"

Charles winced as though Erik had struck him. From his position on the floor Hank glared up at Erik. "Only you," he growled, "could make this out to be his fault."

Erik roared in anger, gathering himself to strike. Hank got to his knees and prepared to counter him.

"Stop!" Charles commanded, freezing Erik in place. "Please, Erik, it's no one's fault," he pleaded. "Moira fired the gun. You deflected the bullet. I was in the wrong place. It was an accident. I don't blame you. Please don't blame yourself." With a sigh, he released Erik from his hold. But other than dropping his arms, Erik still didn't move, trapped now by his own powerful emotions.

Charles tried again to reach him. "You've been using your anger and pain to fuel your powers for so long, that those responses are instinctive to you no matter the situation. But that way is ultimately most destructive to you. Don't add guilt to that."

"I know," Erik choked out, "you want me to be all about bright memories and serenity. But there's been too damn little of that in my life."

Charles nodded. "You've been through more than anyone should bear. But you don't have to keep allowing that to define you. You can put the past behind you and make a future of your own choosing."

Erik responded with a bitter laugh. "What's the saying? Those who cannot learn from the past are doomed to repeat it? Your ideals are beautiful, Charles, but they ignore the lessons of history. We can't seek an accommodation with those who would..." Erik cut himself off, noticing that Charles had turned very pale.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Sorry that I cannot be the man that you want me to be. And I'm sorry about what's happened to you." He reached down and took Raven's hand, lifting her to her feet. "Raven and I should go now, before you pass out."

Charles gave a quick nod, feeling darkness creeping up on him; but he needed to know that they would be safe. _Go to sleep,_ he commanded every human within range.

"I've made a path for you," he said.

Erik guided Raven toward the door. She gave Charles a sorrowful look as she resumed her disguise. "Goodbye," she said simply, and then was gone.

After the door closed behind them, Hank got up and hurried over to Charles. "That could have gone better," Charles said; then sagged forward. Hank caught him before he fell, lifting him gently and putting him back on the bed.


	5. Chapter 5

Once they were off the grounds of the naval base, Raven reverted back to her natural form. Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around Erik's torso. Though she didn't make a sound, he could feel her shoulders shaking and knew that she was crying.

He held her for as long as he felt it was safe, occasionally stroking her hair or patting her back. Giving comfort to another person was a new and surprisingly pleasant experience for him. Finally, Raven pulled away.

"I'm sorry," she said, rubbing her eyes; then smoothing her clothes and her hair.

"Don't be," he replied gently. "What are friends for?"

She gave him a fleeting smile, but then her expression turned somber. "What do we do now?"

Erik's response was to give a short whistle. "Azazel!" he added, just to be certain the devilish mutant heard the summons.

Azazel appeared with a poof of black smoke, Angel and Riptide holding his hands. Riptide cocked his head at Erik's disguise. "Nice outfit."

Erik nodded in greeting. "Azazel, I need you to take us somewhere that we can have a quiet conversation, at least 250 miles from here. Perhaps a nice beach." Then he held out a hand to Raven. "Shall we?"

But she held back. "How can we go off and leave him again – like that? Charles needs our help!"

"Not here," Erik warned her, and again extended his hand. She took it reluctantly, and in a dark flash, they were gone.

They reappeared on the beach where they had crash-landed three weeks earlier. Signs of the Cuban military were everywhere: the sandy ground was scored with tire tracks. All of the small bits of wreckage and most of the larger ones were gone, but the hulking frames of both the submarine and the Blackbird remained, rusting away in the salty air.

Erik smiled at Azazel. "Excellent choice!"

Raven looked at Erik in confusion. "Why are we here?"

"Because, if we're going to rescue him, we need to be able to talk without Charles overhearing us. " Ignoring Raven's stunned expression, he gestured towards the gaping hole in the side of the submarine. "Come on."

The tropical sun was high in the sky, and moving inside the submarine brought no relief from the stifling heat. Within a few minutes, all of the mutants except Azazel were sweating and uncomfortable. He actually seemed to enjoy the heat. Most of the interior of the ship had been stripped of everything useful, with gaping holes and dangling wires in the walls where the electronics had been ripped away.

"Here we are," Erik said, as they reached the reactor room. He moved his hands like a maestro as he led them inside, pushing the fallen girders and other debris to the side of the room.

"Just as I hoped," he said. "Most of the panels are intact. This will work perfectly."

Raven gave Erik a suspicious look. "Work for what?"

"For rescuing Charles, of course."

Raven frowned. "How are panels that block his telepathy going to help us rescue him?"

"Raven, I'm not sure you understand just how dangerous Charles is, and how much of a threat he represents to our cause. Seeing him has reminded me that there is so much more he can do than just read minds." Erik took her gently by the shoulders, looking down to meet her eyes. "How could we make him come with us, if he was unwilling? Before we could get close to him, he would know our plans. He could disable you by freezing you in place or making you go to sleep."

Raven shook her head in denial. "He's no threat to us! He's in a dammed wheelchair!"

Erik threw up his hands. "What does that matter? He could take control of your body and make you do whatever he wanted. He could literally become any one of us in this room, with full control of our powers. In that sense, he's even more of a shape-shifter than you. His dreams of peace between humankind and mutants have completely blinded him to reality. He is going to use that power to recruit mutants to defend them against us. But it won't stop with just defending them. Ultimately, there will be a war. Now do you understand why we can't allow him to be on their side? If Charles doesn't have the foresight or will to rescue himself, we're going to have to do it for him."

Riptide, who had been leaning casually against the wall, spoke up. "If he's as powerful as you say, then how do we get him?"

"I have a plan, but for obvious reasons, I must be the only one who knows it. Azazel, I will need you to fetch my helmet and our other belongings from our hotel in Pensacola. I can't be anywhere near Charles without it, at least until he is in our hands. And one more thing – are you capable of teleporting something as large as a military transport truck?"

The red-hued mutant nodded; then vanished without a word.

Azazel was literally back in a flash, complete with a small troop transport truck. Erik and Raven's belongings from the hotel were in the back.

Erik was impressed, and gave Azazel a broad smile. "Perfect!" But as the words left his lips, he felt a cold shudder pass through him. That sounded just like Shaw, he thought to himself, his smile fading. Raven noticed the change in his expression.

"Everything all right?"

"Fine," he replied, his tense expression warning her not to press further.

She took a step back. "Okay, if you say so."

Erik pushed the mental image of his nemesis into the background. He was not like Shaw. Despite his claims about a common cause, Shaw had been all about himself at the expense of everyone around him. My motives are different, Erik thought to himself. I'm not him, and I never will be.

The small team of mutants got to work converting the transport truck into a telepath-proof holding cell. Erik stripped the panels from the walls of Shaw's lair. Azazel teleported them from the sub to the truck, where Raven and Riptide moved them into position. Angel's fire spit soldered them in place.

As they worked, Raven's heart began pounding. Feeling dizzy, she made an excuse to Riptide and climbed out of the truck. She found a shady spot not far away and sank down, resting her back against the trunk of a palm tree. She gazed out over the blue Caribbean ocean, dazzling in the sunlight.

When she and Charles had visited the New England seaside as children, watching the waves had always made her feel peaceful. But peace eluded her now. She pressed a hand to her chest in response to the continued pounding, unable to deny any longer what they were really doing here. They were preparing to take Charles against his will. This wasn't a rescue. It was a kidnapping.

His work inside the sub finished, Erik stepped out of the darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed a flash of red hair at the tree line.

"Raven?" he asked, walking toward her.

She swallowed, taking a couple of breaths to get her emotions under control. Then, as calmly as she could, she asked, "Why are we only talking about rescuing Charles? What about the others?"

Erik frowned. "The others are on their own. As long as they are on the side of the humans, we have no responsibility for them. "

"Why are we really doing this, then? You said that Charles can take care of himself!"

"And you said that you wanted to convince him to join us."

Raven shook her head in denial. "Not like this! He gave us the choice: he should be able to make his own choice."

Erik studied her for a moment, then he reached down and pulled her to her feet. "Come on," he said, continuing to hold her hand as they walked back to the truck. "Let's go talk about this with the others."

As they approached the truck, Riptide hopped out to meet them. "All done," he reported. Erik nodded; then looked over at Azazel.

"Riptide, Angel and I should be able to handle this. Charles and Raven are much too attuned to each other, so I don't want her involved in this operation. Take Raven to Montana and stay with her until this is done."

Raven tried to jerk free, but Erik's hold was too tight. He offered her hand to Azazel. "Erik, no!" Raven shouted, but before the echoes faded from the beach, Azazel had grasped her hand and whisked her away.


	6. Chapter 6

Erik knew that darkness came quickly in the tropics, and he had one more job to complete while there was still light to work. He ducked into the shell of the Blackbird. Like the sub, it had been stripped of all electronics and everything else the Cubans thought might be useful. But what Erik wanted was still there: a jump seat, straps intact, securely bolted to the wall. He twirled a finger, and the bolts began unscrewing themselves.

Just as he finished attaching the seat to the newly-remodeled interior of the troop transport truck, the last bit of light disappeared from the sky. It was now too dark to see his handiwork, so he contented himself with running his hands over the smooth walls of the interior. The previous bench seats had been removed, and the walls, floors and ceilings had been completely covered in the paneling from Shaw's sub. It was a perfect cage for a telepath.

Just a few more hours, Erik thought, as he watched the sun beginning to set. It was going to be a dark, moonless night; exactly what he needed. Just at the treeline, Angel had started a small fire. She and Riptide were relaxing in the glow, talking quietly. Erik walked over and sat down on a small log across from them. Riptide nodded in greeting, but then stood and walked away towards the water, his hands making little swirls of sand as he walked.

"Something I said?" Erik asked Angel.

"He's not too sure about all of this." Angel gestured vaguely in the direction of the truck.

"About the plan, or about me?"

Angel shrugged. "Both. He'd been with Shaw a while. And we were fighting each other just a few weeks ago."

"As much as I hate to admit it," Erik replied, "Shaw was right about one thing. Our kind should not be fighting each other." He picked up a nearby stick and poked at the small fire, which responded by brightening slightly and sending a few sparks into the night sky.

"So why this plan of yours?" Angel asked.

Erik paused, considering his answer. Then he pointed the glowing tip of the stick at Angel as though it were a professor's pointer. "We are taking someone who should be our ally away from those who have proven to be our enemies. By force, if necessary." He tossed the stick into the fire.

"Makes sense," Angel nodded. Their voices fell silent for a moment, so that only the crackling of the fire and lapping of the waves could be heard. Suddenly, Angel laughed out loud. "You guys were so funny when you recruited me. We'll show you ours if you show us yours. Who came up with that line, anyway?"

"That was Charles, of course, he of the worst pickup lines known to human or mutant kind."

Angel waved an admonishing finger at him. "Don't knock it; it worked."

"And here I thought it was my magnetic personality," Erik replied, moving his hand in a recreation of the object he'd spun for her when they first met.

"Actually, it was the line about a job where I got to keep my clothes on."

"Damn. Charles, again."

Suddenly, Angel turned serious. "I didn't get to spend much time with him, but Charles seems like a nice guy. And he should be able to make his own choices, just like us." She stood and took a few steps towards where Riptide was studying the water, still making mini-tornadoes in the sand. Then she paused and looked back over her shoulder at Erik. "You said Shaw was right about mutants not fighting each other. Well, he was right about another thing, too. He gave us the choice."

As she walked off, Erik stared into the fire. In some ways, hunting Shaw had been easier than what he was planning to do now. His goal to avenge his family, his clarity of purpose, the utter rightness of his cause had given him the comfort of certainty in his actions. But now, a thought was nagging at him that he couldn't dispell by simply focusing on his plans. What was he going to do if, after everything that had happened, Charles insisted on continuing to help the CIA?

Erik scrubbed his fingers through his hair. One step at a time, he told himself.

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As had become her routine, Moira was spending the night in Charles' hospital room. She curled up in the chair by the window, wrapped in a blanket purchased at the base store. Both she and Charles were hopeful that they would spend only one or two more nights this way. Charles had made good progress, according to the doctors, and would be released soon to begin physical therapy. She was just about to nod off when she heard an ugent whisper.

"Moira, wake up."

"What is it?"

"There are men coming," Charles warned. "They know that everyone in the area fell asleep at the same time yesterday. I'm surprised it took them this long to decide to bring me in for questioning."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Get out of here before they arrive. Let Hank and the others know," he said, then closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Moira hurried to his side and put a hand on his shoulder, but he opened his eyes and waved her off. "Go, and hurry," he said. "I've seen their plans for the others, and they are not good. Tell them to get out of here by any means necessary; then make their way to the mansion."

"But what about…"

"Despite the loss of my mobility, I am not helpless. And I want a chance to confront the men who gave the order to fire on us." He reached up and grabbed her hand. "Moira, there's no time. You have to run."

She queezed his hand; then turned and swiftly gathered up her things: jacket, purse, badge. She had no gun. She'd been forced to surrender it as a condition of being with Charles on the base.

"They're coming up the stairs to your left," he cautioned. "I've cleared the stairs to your right and taken care of the guards at the back door. Hurry."

She ran to the door, and peered out. The hallway was empty. "Charles…"

"Go," he urged her, giving her a small mental nudge. After the door closed behind her, he indulged in a brief moment of relief that she would be safe. He looked over at the chair where she had been sitting; a chair where he'd had a friend since he'd first regained consciousness. But now he was alone.

That day - his mind went back to the moment when he first realized the depth of the betrayal. Erik's challenge rang in his head. Go ahead Charles, take a look. Tell me I'm wrong. He shook his head. What an idealistic fool I was.

Despite the fact that he knew they were coming, he still flinched when the door slammed open. Several men in dark suits ran into the room, guns drawn. Charles lifted his hands placatingly. "I'm not going to resist. The guns aren't necessary."

"Perhaps not," one of the agents replied, a man that Charles identified as the leader of the group. "But they make us feel better, so we're going to keep them out." He studied Charles for moment. "Aren't you going to ask what's going on?"

Charles raised an eyebrow. "I have no need to do so, and you know it."

The man snorted in response. "Get the orderlies in here. I want him dressed and ready to go."

Two burly men in white moved to the bedside. In full view of the agents, they pulled on the dress pants, socks and shoes that Moira had purchased for him just a few days earlier. She'd been so excited that he was going to be released, and seeing the clothes hanging in the small closet had given both of them an emotional lift.

He suffered the indignity in silence. But he put up a warning hand when they started on the shirt. "I can do that myself," he protested. At a nod from the lead agent, the orderlies stepped back and allowed him to struggle into the shirt and jacket. As soon as he finished buckling his belt, they grabbed him by the upper arms, lifting and turning him while a third pushed a wheelchair underneath. With effort, Charles shoved back his resentment at being manhandled; focusing instead on what he was going to say to the men who had ordered his death.

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Erik decided that the night had grown dark enough. He summoned Azazel, who appeared instantly. His red skin seemed to glow where touched by the light of the fire. Seeing their teammate, Riptide and Angel walked over to join them.

"How is Raven doing?" Erik asked.

Azazel gave a predatory smile. "Mystique is ravishing, especially when she is angry. And she is very angry with you." Erik felt a wave of trepidation, and instantly regretted leaving Raven alone with the devilish mutant.

"I have not harmed her in any way," Azazel assured him. "I simply find her – fascinating. However, my time grows short in this dimension. If you wish my assistance with your plan, you must act now."

"Take us to the hospital on the naval base. I want the truck to be right outside the door. Once there, we must move quickly, before Charles is aware of us. I don't know if he would warn the humans of our presence, but we can't take that chance."

Erik quickly buried the fire to hide the evidence of their intrusion. Then all four climbed into the back of the truck so that Charles would be unable to sense them when they arrived. The truck contained the swirl of black smoke as they vanished, leaving the dark and scarred beach behind.


	7. Chapter 7

Sean shifted uncomfortably on the bunk in his cell, thinking bitterly that the others didn't seem to be as bothered by their current predicament as the he was. After all, Alex was used to solitary confinement. In his new persona as Beast, Hank just took everything in stride. But nothing in Sean's life experience had prepared the red-headed teen for three weeks in prison. He buried his face in in the pillow. It doesn't even have a pillow case, he thought. His mom always ironed his pillowcase.

Even if no one could see him, he didn't want to start crying again. He'd done enough of that in the first few nights he'd been here. But damn, he missed his parents. He missed his friends at school. He even missed school.

Sometimes when he got like this, the Professor would be aware of it and would talk to him telepathically, comforting and encouraging him. But the Professor was supposed to be sleeping. He needed rest if he was going to get better so that all of them could be released. So Sean tried to quiet his thoughts and go back to sleep.

Suddenly, he felt Charles' touch in his mind.

 _Sean, wake up!_

 _I'm here, Professor._

 _Moira is on her way to you. You must do what she asks and make sure the others go along._

 _You want me…to get the others…_

 _Sean, I don't have time to explain further. Trust Moira. Trust me._

Sean sat up on the bunk. Professor? But Charles's presence vanished as quickly as it came.

He ran to the barred entrance of his cell. For a long moment, there was no sign of Moira – but if the Professor had said she was coming, then she was. Finally he heard the clack-clack of her heels as she ran down the hall. A gate stood between her and the section housing the remnant of Charles' team.

"Let me through, I'm a federal agent," she demanded of the guard stationed on the other side.

"Not without orders," the guard replied.

 _How's this for orders_ , Sean thought, and then directed a blast down the hall. The guard went tumbling, his keys skittering towards Moira. She snatched them up, unlocked the gate, and rushed through. Sean sent another blast past her to make sure the guard stayed down.

"The Professor said something was up," Sean explained as she got to his cell. "What is it?"

She gasped for air as she fumbled with the lock. There must have been at least twenty keys on the keychain, and none of them seemed to fit. "Charles wants you – all of you, to get out of here immediately."

Hank's face appeared at the door to his cell. "I'm ready."

Sean rolled his eyes. "Forget the keys, Moira. Just get back." Her eyes widened in comprehension, and she flattened herself against the wall.

Sean screamed, blowing his door halfway down the hall. He stepped out and went to Hank's cell, but Hank waved him away. "I've got it," he said, wrapping his hands around the bars. With a mighty heave, he bent them apart and squeezed through the opening.

"Got mine, too," Alex said, and prepared to blast his bars down.

Hank, Moira and Sean reacted at once, with cries of, "Wait!" "No, Alex!" and "Duck!" They dove for cover just as a fiery arc obliterated the bars and just about everything else around them.

When it dissipated, Alex stepped out and surveyed the damage with satisfaction. "Uh, sorry," he said, noticing the stricken looks on the faces of the others where they'd taken shelter in Sean's cell.

Sean stared at him, incredulous. "No, you're not."

"Yeah, you're right," Alex laughed. "That actually felt great. So, I guess we're breaking out of here? It's about time."

Hank turned to the one human among them. "What's the plan, Moira?"

"Not here," she warned. "Come on. Between Sean and Alex, the whole base probably knows that we're breaking out. " She gestured down the hall. "Sean, will you take the lead?"

With Sean blowing down anyone or anything that stood in their path, they were out of the brig in less than a minute. Keeping to the shadows, they set a path for the front gates of the base. After several heart-pounding moments of sprinting, ducking, jumping up, and sprinting some more, they reached a building just in sight of the hospital. Hank held up a hand and called a halt. They gathered into a tight circle.

"All right, Moira," Hank whispered. "Time to let us know what's going on."

Quickly, she told about the agents Charles had sensed. "He said you were to escape by any means necessary, and get to New York."

Hank shook his head. "I said it earlier: we're not leaving without Charles."

Moira gestured wildly, trying to convince him. "It's what he wants, and more importantly, he knows what he's doing."

"She's right," Sean interrupted. "He talked to me, in my head, just before she showed up. He said to trust her."

"No way," Alex replied, shaking his head.

"Are we a team, or not?" Sean demanded. "Is the Professor our leader, or not? If we're a team, and he's our leader, then we should do what he says." Sean folded his arms defiantly, daring Alex to reply.

"We're a team," Hank affirmed, "and he's our leader. But that doesn't mean that he's always right."

Sean shook his head in agreement. "I understand. But trusting him means doing what he says, even when we don't understand or agree. So, are we getting out of here, or are we going after him?"

There was a long silence while Alex and Hank struggled with the decision. It was Alex who spoke first. "We trust him. We get out of here."

Hank sighed. "I hate this."

Moira put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I do, too. But it's what he wants." She gave his shoulder a final squeeze before taking her hand away. "I've got a rental sedan in the parking lot of the hospital. We should have a clear shot once we cross that field. But Hank, I'm afraid you'll have to ride in the trunk."

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Charles had been dreading his first public excursion in a wheelchair, expecting a combination of curiosity and pity from the minds he encountered. But the procession through the hospital was so much worse than he could have imagined. The hospital's night staff stared at him in suspicion, wondering if he was a deserter, a spy, or a traitor. Wanting only to shut out their unsettling thoughts, he put two fingers to his temple.

The agent pushing his wheelchair stopped abruptly. There was a distinctive click, and he felt the muzzle of a gun press against his head, just behind his left ear. He froze.

"None of that," the lead agent warned. "Unless you've suddenly acquired the ability to stop a bullet with that mind of yours, you're going to put your hand down and keep it down. Got it?"

Charles didn't need to put his fingers to his temple for his telepathy to work; it was simply a long-engrained habit that improved his focus. However, he saw an advantage in perpetuating the idea that they could block his abilities by keeping his hands away from his head. He wrapped his fingers around the armrests of the chair, allowing them to think they'd cowed him. At the same time, Charles sent an irresistible command to the lead agent, burying it deeply in the man's subconscious. _You will not pull that trigger._ If a time came that the agent decided to fire, he would find himself physically unable to do so.

"That's better," the lead agent declared. "But all the same, I think I'm going to keep this right here." He emphasized this by shoving Charles' head with the gun. "So, no sudden moves unless you want an extra hole in your head."

The entourage had just cleared the entrance to the hospital and was approaching a line of long black sedans when a troop transport tuck materialized right in front of them, literally out of thin air. One of the agents swore aloud, and the rest swore mentally, pulling their guns to meet the new threat. Instinctively, Charles tried to get a reading on those inside, but the space occupied by the truck was like a black hole in his telepathic field. With a sickening realization, he knew where he'd sensed that before: Shaw's sub.

The back door of the truck flew open. Erik jumped down, wearing his telepathy-proof helmet. Azazel was right behind him, whipping out his sword and grinning fiercely.

Erik froze for a moment as he took in the scene before him. It was the middle of the night. He expected to find Charles asleep in his hospital room, not fully dressed and surrounded by agents in a parking lot. Erik knew that his friend was paralyzed, but actually seeing him in a wheelchair for the first time was a shock. Added to that was the realization that he was being taken somewhere without any of the others, apparently against his will. One of the agents had a gun to Charles' head.

Cold fury washed over Erik. Most of it was for the government agents who surrounded Charles as though he were a dangerous criminal; but a significant portion was directed at Charles for allowing it. He'd planned to have Azazel teleport him into Charles' hospital room for a quick snatch-and-grab. He'd designed this operation to avoid hurting innocents, out of respect for the telepath's feelings. But there were no innocents here. If these weren't the men who ordered the ships to fire on the beach, they were at least under the same command.

Erik's fury lashed out. The gun pointed at Charles' head went sailing through the air, followed by the weapons of every other agent in the group. The black-suited men immediately scattered, running for cover. Like a fisherman pulling in a net, Erik formed his hand into a fist and drew it towards himself. In response, Charles' wheelchair sailed across the pavement towards him.

Charles' eyes were wide and confused. "Erik, what…" he started.

"I'm sorry, Charles," Erik interrupted, pulling back a fist. Charles threw up a forearm to block the blow, but Erik used his other hand bat it down. Charles' head snapped back as Erik's fist connected with his jaw, and he went limp.

Erik lifted Charles into a fireman's carry and hurried to the back of the truck, leaving the chair behind. Riptide was there, waiting for him.

"Would you and Azazel like to handle this?" Erik asked, nodding toward the agents, who had scattered in pursuit of their weapons. He had just thrown them far enough to make it entertaining.

"It'll be a pleasure." Riptide sauntered off; his hands already full of wind.

As Erik laid Charles on the floor of the truck, Angel stared at him in disbelief. A bruise was already forming on Charles' jaw where Erik's blow had connected.

"You hit a man in a wheelchair?" she gasped.

Before he could answer, the night was punctuated by a scream and a thud, followed by a series of gunshots. Erik allowed himself to enjoy a moment of satisfaction. Then he directed a warning look at Angel. "It was the only way to be sure he wouldn't interfere with his own rescue. Now help me get him into that jumpseat. We need to move before the entire base is alerted to our presence."

By the time they had Charles settled, Riptide and Azazel had returned to the truck, relaxed and very satisfied with themselves.

"All handled," Riptide reported.

Azazel sheathed his blood-soaked sword. "Now I must take my leave. My time in this dimension is at an end. Tell Mystique that I will return as soon as I am able."

Erik nodded tightly, and Azazel vanished, leaving his trademark smoke behind. While Erik regretted the loss of a quick trip back to Montana, he found himself welcoming the thought of fighting his way off of the base. Already lights were going on in the surrounding buildings. A nurse came down the steps of the hospital, and screamed at the sight of the bloodied bodies in the parking lot.

"Let's move," Erik ordered, climbing into the driver's seat. Angel slid into the middle of the bench-style seat, while Riptide sat on the right. Erik threw the truck into gear and floored the gas pedal. As they neared the front gate, Riptide leaned out out of the window, catching the wind and hurling it out in front of them. The vortex tossed guards and gates alike into the air. With the truck's lights off, they sped away into the darkness.

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"Well, this is a problem," Alex said, stating the obvious. "I guess we won't be taking Moira's car, after all." The hospital parking lot was swarming with activity. It looked like there had been a firefight: bloodied bodies were scattered across the pavement. Medical personnel ran back and forth, attending to the wounded or covering the dead. Military police were searching the area, looking under and into the parked vehicles. To one side, a group of Marines were gearing up as though preparing for war.

"I'm going to try to find out what's going on," Moira whispered. She disappeared into the darkness behind the hospital. The three mutants watched as a back door opened, letting out a silver of light, and then closed again behind her. After a few minutes, the door opened again, and they saw her returning across the field.

"So?" Alex asked.

"From what I can tell, when the agents got Charles to the parking lot, they were ambushed by Erik and his new friends. They took off with him in a troop transport truck and crashed through the main gates."

Alex swore angrily, expressing what they were all feeling. "How long ago?"

"Ten to fifteen minutes. In the darkness, they could be anywhere by now. We'll never catch up."

Sean groaned and buried his face in his hands.

But Hank grinned, hardly believing their luck. There it was, just for the taking: a brand-new Chinook, right off the Boeing production line and unguarded in the commotion. He wasn't sure what an Army helicopter was doing on a Navy base, but he wasn't going to question their good fortune.

"I think I've found us a better ride."


	8. Chapter 8

Inside the Chinook, Hank took a few minutes to familiarize himself with the controls. Their luck had continued: he'd found a clipboard with the pre-flight checklist tucked away under the pilot's seat.

"It's a bit of a step down from the Blackbird," Alex commented, peering over his shoulder.

Hank gave him a stern look. "It can lift three tons, carry 33 troops plus crew, and is capable of speeds up to 130 knots. It'll do nicely. Now go sit down and let me concentrate." He watched in mild amusement as Alex retreated to a seat next to Sean, who was waiting anxiously near the middle of the helicopter.

"How fast is 130 knots?" Alex whispered. Sean shook his head.

"That's 150 miles per hour," Hank called from the front. Not that I particularly want to go that fast at night, over unfamiliar terrain, in a bird that's barely completed its test flights. Aloud, he added, "Strap yourselves in and put on your headsets. I'm starting the engines, and it's going to get noisy. Especially if the Army notices that we're stealing their brand-new helicopter."

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Charles blinked a few times; then jerked awake. He looked around in confusion, completely at a loss as to where he was. Glancing down, he saw that he was strapped into a jump seat which bore an uncanny resemblance to the ones from the lost Blackbird. The room's floors and walls, which appeared to be made of metal, were barren except for a single light in the ceiling – and they seemed to be vibrating. With a start, Charles realized that he was in the back of the transport truck he'd seen right before Erik had decked him. He reached up and touched his jaw at the memory. It was sore, but not broken.

Putting two fingers to his head, he closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. But for the first time in his memory, the constant background murmur of other minds was gone, and all he heard was silence. He closed his eyes in frustration. What in the world is Erik thinking? Did Charles even know his friend anymore?

He decided to pound on the wall of the truck to see if he could elicit a response. An argument with Erik would be far preferable to remaining in this prison alone.

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Hank marveled at the power of the twin engines as the Chinook roared into the air. He initiated the most rapid ascent that he thought the helicopter could handle, hoping to get them beyond the range of gunfire before their unauthorized takeoff was noticed. Once they reached an altitude where he felt safe, he leveled off; then set a course west along the Gulf coastline.

He heard Alex's voice in his headset. "It's awfully dark down there. How are we going to find one truck when we don't even know where it's going?"

"We're not," Hank responded. "We're going to let the military find it for us."

He switched his radio to the channel commonly used for emergency ground communications. Instantly he picked up chatter from the troops in pursuit of the truck. After monitoring them for a couple of minutes, he heard the crucial bit of information he needed. The truck had been spotted heading west on Route 98, approaching the Perdido Bay Bridge. He looked over at Moira, stationed in the co-pilot's chair.

"I need you to monitor the local and state police channels," he said. "Let me know if they set up any roadblocks."

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Charles gripped the armrests of the jump seat as the truck skidded to a sudden halt. A moment later, the doors at the back slammed open. Erik climbed in, wearing his helmet, which made it difficult for Charles to read his expression and impossible to read his mind. Unconsciously, Charles tightened his hold on the armrests.

Erik studied the telepath for a moment, with the practiced eye that he'd used on his Nazi prey. Charles' face appeared calm, but his blue eyes were slightly wider than usual, and his grasp on the chair was so tight that his knuckles were white with the strain. It was the expression Erik had seen on the banker in France, and on the men in the Argentine bar before he killed them. It was fear. Charles was afraid of him. The thought was simultaneously exhilarating and devastating. He'd captured the most powerful telepath in the world and rendered him helpless. He'd probably destroyed what was left of their friendship.

Erik turned and used his power to pull the door closed behind him. He walked to the front of the cargo area and gave a quick double-rap, signaling for Riptide to start driving. Then he leaned against the wall and folded his arms.

Despite his anxiety, Charles put on a good show. He looked up at Erik, as cool as could be, and raised a single eyebrow. "The helmet, again? Can't you trust me not to read your mind without your permission?"

"Consider it a sign of respect for your abilities." Erik smiled tightly. "Don't I get a thank you?"

"For what?"

"For rescuing you from the CIA, of course. Or were they taking you on a holiday in the middle of the night?"

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. When he looked up again, his expression was bleak. "Did you leave any of them alive?" Erik's silence was all the answer that Charles needed. Neither spoke for a while.

Finally, Charles sighed. "Erik, what do you want with me?"

Erik left his spot on the wall and walked over to stand in front of Charles. "I want the same thing that I wanted on the beach. I want us to work together. I want you to stop identifying mutants for the CIA." He waved his arm toward the back of the truck, indicating the agents they'd left behind. It was an innocent gesture, but Charles flinched, and only his fierce grip on the chair allowed him to resist the urge to throw up his hands in self-defense. Erik noted the flinch, and grieved it. He dropped his hand. "Don't you understand yet? That's where it starts. With identification."

"No, it starts before that," Charles said, sadly. "It starts with being able to value another's life as worth less than your own. It pains me how little regard you have for the lives of humans."

"And what regard do you have for the lives of mutants? You were ready to throw ours – yours – away in hopes of convincing the humans that they don't need to fear us."

"Sit down and listen to me," Charles responded, in a sharp tone that was out of character for him. Then his expression became apologetic. "Not only is looking up at you making me uncomfortable, but I can't help thinking that the truck will make a turn and you'll fall over. I know that you can levitate yourself, but please, will you just sit down?"

Erik's expression was unreadable, but he nodded, and sat down across from Charles, his back against the far wall.

"Erik, you're right," he said in a slow, deliberate tone. "I do have to stop identifying mutants for the CIA. Their actions on the beach demonstrated that we cannot trust the current leadership." Charles sighed. "And after what happened tonight, they're not going to trust me, either. They're going to think I had a part in the deaths of those agents. You've made me a fugitive."

Despite the reproach in Charles' voice, Erik allowed himself to feel a sliver of hope. "So what are you going to do?"

"I've had several weeks to ponder that," Charles said, his eyes brightening a little. "I've decided to convert the mansion into a school, where young mutants can be protected, and learn to control their powers for good."

"But the CIA-"

"Will know nothing about it. Moira will ensure that there's no information in their files that could be used to find us, and a little memory manipulation on my part will take care of the rest." A small smile crept onto Charles' face. "Alex wants to call it 'Xavier's Mutant School,' but Moria thought 'Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters' would be a little more discreet."

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Hank reached over to the communications controls, and switched off Sean and Alex's headsets so that only Moira could hear him.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Has Charles tried to contact you?"

She responded with a quick shake of her head, brows furrowed. "Either they've done something to him to prevent it – or he's already too far away for us to hear him. If they've teleported him somewhere else..."

"Then the truck is a decoy," Hank interrupted, having already come to the same conclusion. "But it's our only lead to him, so we follow it."

Moria signaled for him to be quiet; then listened intently to her radio. "I've got something," she said. "The state police are setting up a roadblock at the eastern entrance to the Perdido Bay Bridge."

Hank's eyes traveled the landscape below. To his left was the ocean, wrapped completely in darkness. To his right, patterns of twinkling lights gave clues to the homes, buildings, and roads on the land. A wide swath of darkness cut through the lighted areas – surely that was the bay. His eyes tracked the outline of the bay from where it met the ocean until he spotted a thin strip of light strung across it: the bridge.

Now that he had a definite target, he pushed on the throttle, bringing the Chinook up to its full airspeed. "All right," he said to Moira. "Let's go find out if that truck is a decoy or not."

He brought them in towards the bridge from the east, flying low and fast, his eyes scanning the road for the truck. He spotted the flashing red and blue lights of the pursuing vehicles first. About a mile ahead of them was the truck, itself still a few miles from the bridge and the waiting roadblock of police cars and military vehicles. We can beat them, Hank thought.

"I'm going to do a touch and go on this side of the bridge," he announced through their headsets. "Alex, I want you to jump out quickly and then get out of sight. Keep them from coming back this way once they realize they're trapped. I'm going to set this bird down on the far side of the bridge."

Alex protested. "But I don't have my control plate…"

"So do the best you can without it," Hank snapped. "We don't have a choice."

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Erik was glad that he'd taken Charles' advice to sit when the truck suddenly came to a halt. With an apologetic nod to Charles, he climbed out of the back, closing the door behind him.

"What's going on?" he demanded, as he got to the front of the truck.

"They've set up a roadblock at the bridge," Riptide replied, pointing down the road. "What do you want to do?"

Erik glanced back the way they'd come. Lights and sirens were approaching quickly, and he could hear the rotors of a helicopter nearby. He had only one option. "We run it," he replied, heading towards the driver's seat.

Near the center of the barricade, a grizzled state trooper stood behind the shelter of his car, his shotgun cradled loosley across his chest. He glanced over at the young man beside him, just out of training and still wet behind the ears. "First roadblock?" he asked.

"Yeah," the younger man replied, fingers tightening on his weapon. "I wonder if they'll surrender or if they'll try to run it."

The trooper studied the lights approaching down the road. "You never know," he said, thoughtfully. "I don't think they ever know, either, until the choice is staring them in the face." He turned to the young trooper with a stern expression. "If they do try to break through, don't be a hero. Just get the hell out of the way. Never met a body yet that could stop a vehicle."

The two men watched as the truck drew closer; then came to a stop. A door opened, and they could see figures moving in the dim light of the road.

"That's a good sign, isn't it?" the young trooper asked. The veteran didn't answer, but continued watching the road. Then they heard the engine of the truck roar to life.

The older man swore. He lifted his shotgun and began firing at the truck's wheels. All along the barricade, other troopers opened fire. But the bullets seemed to bounce off their target, and the truck continued accelerating.

"Move!" he yelled to the youngster, grabbing him by the collar. They got three steps before the cars started flying. Something slammed into the back of the veteran and he was driven to the pavement, pulling the younger man down with him. They threw their hands over their heads to protect themselves as the airborne cars became a malestrom, whirling around them.

The whirlwind parted, and the truck raced through untouched, just a few feet from the prostrate men. After it passed, the wind stopped as suddenly as it had started, raining cars and bodies in its wake. Undaunted, the veteran jumped to his feet, training his shotgun at the back of the fleeing truck. He fired a few times, but the truck was impervious to bullets.

Next to him, the younger man got to his feet. "That ever happened before?" he asked, his voice trembling.

The veteran shook his head. "Can't say that it has."

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Erik's relief at their easy path through the barricade was short-lived. As the truck approached the other side of the bridge, he could see that the way was blocked by a large military helicopter. Standing in front of the helicopter were three figures that he recognized as Hank, Sean and Moira. He eased up on the gas, slowing the truck to give himself a moment to develop a plan.

He didn't want to hurt them. It was Hank, smart, sensitive, and now mutated into an amazing creature of grace and strength. It was Sean, the red-headed teen who he'd pushed off the platform and taught to fly. And it was Moira, the one human who'd stood by them when the world had turned against them. And though he couldn't see Alex, he guessed that the fiery teen was somewhere nearby; probably helping to ensure that they couldn't escape. He couldn't run them down.

Riptide and Angel both looked at him, expectantly. Erik brought the truck to a stop about fifty feet from the helicopter. "They're our brothers," he said. No further explanation was necessary.

Erik climbed out of the truck and took a few tentative steps towards the waiting group. "We don't want to hurt you," he called. "Just let us pass."

"Not while you have Charles," Hank shouted back. "Give him to us, and then you can go."

To Hank's surprise, Erik agreed. "All right, you can have him. But you'd better get over here and retrieve him quickly, before the rest of the military shows up."

Moira looked over at Hank. "Do you think it's a trap?" she asked softly.

"I don't know," Hank replied, his blue eyes troubled. "I'd like to think that he's still the Erik that we knew, and that he wouldn't deliberately hurt us, or Charles." His mind went back to the carnage in the hospital parking lot. "But I just don't know anymore."

He thought for a moment. "If it's not a trap, I don't want to start an unnecessary fight. They will fear you the least, Moira. I need to you make sure that he's there, and then we'll arrange the transfer."

Moira hadn't seen Erik since he'd tried to choke her to death on the beach. She had no weapon, which made little difference; a gun wouldn't have protected her against the metal-wielding man. Still, she felt vulnerable without it. But Charles and the others needed her help; and she desperately wanted to show them that not all humans hated them. For Charles, she thought, pushing her shoulders back and stepping towards the truck, holding her palms out to show that she was unarmed.

"Moira," Erik greeted her as she approached; his expression wary.

"Erik," she replied, equally wary. "I just need to see that he's all right."

There was little else for them to say to each other. Erik nodded, and then led her around to the back of the truck. He opened the doors, standing by silently as she climbed in.

Charles greeted her with an expression that combined surprise, delight, and worry. "Moira! What are you doing here?" She hurried over to him, taking his hands.

"Making sure that you're safe," she explained. "Erik has agreed to let you go with us. Hank's standing by with a helicopter."

"A helicopter?" Charles exclaimed, incredulous. "I can't wait to hear how he managed that!"

Moira smiled. "Later." Then she turned to Erik, expecting to discuss how they'd get Charles out of the truck and over to the helicopter.

But all she saw was the doors of the truck as they slammed shut, locking her in with Charles.


	9. Chapter 9

At the eastern edge of the bridge, a Marine unit set about clearing a path through the wreckage of the roadblock. Alex watched anxiously from the shadows as they towed in a pair of very large guns on wheels.

The veteran state trooper approached one of the Marines. "Semper Fi, Mac," he said in greeting, putting out a hand.

The Marine he'd addressed turned in surprise; then gripped the trooper's hand. "You a former Marine?"

"Served in a field artillery unit in Korea," he replied, running an appreciative eye over their guns. "If you don't mind me asking, why are you setting up howitzers in a civilian area? Seems like a bit of overkill for the situation."

The young Marine stiffened. "Overkill is what those guys did back at base. We've some special ordnance designed just for them."

The veteran glanced at the open box of shells. "Practice rounds?"

"Plastic practice rounds filled with explosives," the Marine clarified. "Apparently our target has some new defense against metal shells. HQ must have known about it, because when we got the call to move, they had these babies all ready to go."

The veteran huffed. "Wished they'd told us before we wasted a bunch of ammo."

The Marine inclined his head towards the Chinook at the other end of the bridge, almost two thousand feet away and barely visible in the darkness. "Well, since the Army's sacrificing one of their choppers, we'd better not waste this batch."

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As he watched Charles greet Moira, blue eyes alight with excitement, Erik was stabbed by regret. For a moment, he pondered what his life could be like if he could somehow be the man that Charles wanted him to be. He imagined himself helping start the school, teaching the youngsters to use their abilities, working towards the peaceful future of Charles' imagination. If only he could return to the New York estate and relive the happiest days of his adult life.

Then he sensed a mass of metal moving onto the eastern end of the bridge. It was going to be the attack at the beach, all over again. Quickly, he slammed the door to the truck and locked it, hoping that the walls he'd reinforced to block Charles' telepathy would be strong enough to stop flying shrapnel.

"Riptide, get the truck off the bridge," he shouted. "And Hank, move that helicopter! They're not going to distinguish between us!"

But while Riptide jumped into the driver's seat of the truck and put it into gear, Hank was defiant. "Not without Charles and Moira," he called back.

 _There's no time for this_ , Erik thought, turning to face the attack in frustration. He saw a bright flash of light, and then another – they'd fired two guns. Instinctively, he threw up his hand to redirect the shells; but they didn't respond to his command. He tried again before he realized that there was no metal in them at all. He was as powerless to stop the shells as when he'd been a young boy desperately trying to move a coin. Looking around quickly, he spotted the metal guardrail. He started to pull it out of the ground, in the frantic hope that he could throw it at the missiles and divert them. But he was too late.

The truck had only moved about a hundred feet when the first shell hit. It impacted on the bridge just in front of the truck, causing Riptide to swerve sharply to avoid the resulting crater. Overbalanced, the truck rolled over onto its side, momentum carrying it in a long, spinning slide towards the edge of the bridge. For a heart-stopping moment, Erik thought it was going to go over, but a remaining section of guardrail caught it, and it came to a stop.

A moment later, the second shell struck the bridge a little further to the west, landing almost exactly at the half-way point between the truck and the helicopter. Hank threw himself at Sean as the edge of the blast wave approached, driving him to the ground and covering him with his body. As it reached them, the blast dissipated into a surge of pressure and noise that showered them with road fragments but did not injure them.

"You, on the bridge! That was just a warning shot. You have five seconds to surrender or we'll fire again."

Ignoring their demand, Erik ran to the truck. Riptide was just beginning to climb out of the driver's side window, pulling Angel behind him. A cut over her eye was dripping blood down onto her cheek and neck, but she was otherwise unharmed.

"They're using shells without metal," Erik warned as he helped Angel to safety. "I can't control them."

Riptide scowled. "Not a problem for me." Wind began to swirl in his hands.

Further west on the bridge, Hank got to his feet and offered a hand to Sean. "Charles would want us to protect those soldiers. Do what you can to stop Erik and the others. I'm going to try to get Charles and Moira out of the truck."

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Inside the truck, Charles and Moira had experienced a sudden lurch; then the world spun crazily. Charles pulled Moira to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her as the truck flipped onto its side. For a long, agonizing moment they were sliding, and then the motion stopped with a jerk.

 _Check the door_ , he projected to her.

She nodded and got to her feet, still shaky from their wild ride. She pushed against the door, but it was securely locked. "I'll bet Hank could get this open. Can you call him?"

"I can't," he said aloud. "The interior's been covered with the panels from Shaw's sub." He banged his head once against the back of the jump seat, frustrated with his uselessness. He couldn't even get up to help her open the damn door.

Just outside, Hank had arrived at the back of the truck and found it wedged against the guardrail. _Let's see just how strong I am,_ he thought, wrapping his arms around the back corner. He gave a mighty heave, and managed to move it several inches. _Just a little more,_ he thought, and he'd be able to reach the door.

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On the eastern side of the bridge, the field artillery crew prepared to fire again. Alex swore and put his head in his hands. He didn't know what to do. Hank had dropped him so quickly, with a simple command: stop Erik and the others if they come back this way. He hadn't told him what to do if they were being fired upon. _The Professor would want me to protect the soldiers,_ he thought, remembering the events on the beach. _But he'd want me to protect Hank and the others, too. I don't know how to do both._

And suddenly, the choice was made for him. Angel came soaring overhead, aiming fiery blasts at the artillery crew. State troopers and Marines alike ducked for cover. The way now clear, Alex climbed onto the bridge. Out of the darkness, he saw a large section of the guardrail come flying towards him, aimed by Erik at the men behind. He lashed out with his power, slicing the guardrail into pieces. It separated into glowing ribbons and began falling around him.

Then Riptide's vortex hit, sweeping up the falling guardrails, the howitzers and the shells, the damaged police cars and all into a maelstrom of destruction. Alex curled into a ball at the edge of the bridge, covering his head with his hands until it passed.

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Erik reached out to the helicopter, intending to toss it out of the way. But he hesitated as Sean stepped in front of it, his expression both pained and determined. Sean directed a high-pitched wave at Erik's head. The sound reverberated painfully inside his helmet and forced him to his knees, fighting to stay conscious. Riptide turned and sent a blast of air towards Sean. The teen tried to counter it, but the vortex was more powerful, and he was thrown backwards towards the helicopter.

One of the Marine gunnery units had recovered, quickly pulling their howitzer back into place and loading it with a recovered shell. Alex looked back just in time to see them finish adjusting the angle of the barrel.

"No!" he shouted, waving at them to draw their attention. But whether or not they would have listened to an unknown teenager standing on the bridge, it was too late. The shell roared out of the howitzer, sailing over Alex's head before he could do anything to stop it.

Alex turned and began to sprint across the bridge. He had to stop the shell before it impacted. Knowing it was futile, he sent a blast after it anyway, hoping to destroy it in the air. But his shot was wild, and the shell exploded right next to the truck. A large chunk of the bridge broke off and crumbled into the water. Hank was thrown backwards, his head impacting on the ground.

Erik struggled to his feet, dazed from the combination of Sean's attack and the exploding shell. Not far away, Riptide and Hank both lay stunned. Sean was standing as if frozen, staring at a gap in the bridge. The truck was gone.

Erik released a wordless cry of anguish that rattled every bit of metal for miles around.

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Charles dangled uncomfortably from the jump seat. The truck had rolled as it sank into the bay, so that the wall to which the seat was bolted was now the ceiling. He called to Moira, both with his voice and mind. She was crumpled in the opposite corner of the truck where she'd been thrown when the truck fell. He was just debating the usefulness of unstrapping himself so that he could fall to the floor with her when she stirred.

"What happened?" she asked, looking up at him in confusion.

"I'm not sure," he replied, recalling the terrifying sensation, "There was some sort of explosion, and then the truck fell."

"We're in the water?" Moira looked in confusion at the pool forming around her. Her eyes traveled over the interior, noticing the little rivulets that seemed to be pouring down every seam in the walls. Though she said nothing aloud, her thoughts were screaming. _"We're going to drown."_

"Moira, we've been lucky so far. The truck is intact, which may be due to the extra support from Shaw's panels. Even if it fills with water, there's a good chance we'll have an air bubble. We're going to have to find it and hang on until someone comes for us."

"Air bubble," she said, taking a shaky breath. "Okay." She looked at the jump seat, now suspended on the ceiling. "At least we have something to hang onto."

 _Be brave, he sent. Help will come._

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Erik ran to the spot where the truck had been, reaching out over the darkened water. He'd lifted a submarine; lifting a truck would be child's play.

He extended his hands, but a sudden shift in the bridge beneath him threw him to the ground again. A seam opened up, and then the entire section separated from the rest of the bridge. Sean reached out to him as he leapt to safety, catching him just before the section dropped into the water. Certain that the truck would be crushed, Erik tried to lift the bridge section as it fell. Though he could hold the metal supports, the concrete slabs broke away and sank, burying the truck further in the soft silt at the bottom of the bay.

The remaining howitzer prepared to fire again. This time Alex knew that words wouldn't stop them. "Get back", he warned; then sent a blast that destroyed the gun.

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The trapped pair heard a horrible groaning sound, followed by several jolts as debris from the bridge sank around them. A corner buckled, opening a small seam and allowing the water to pour in more freely. Charles was still secured in the jump seat, and Moira was beneath him, hanging from the straps in water as deep as her chest. Charles' neck and upper back were already sore from his awkward position, but he tightened his arms around her and forced himself to concentrate on supporting her upper body.

She seemed to sense that he was tiring. "Lay your head down," she said gently. He relaxed and allowed his forehead to rest against her shoulder, relieving the strain on his neck. Her hair was soft against his cheek.

When the water crept as high as Moira's shoulders, he was forced to lift his head, turning his face to the side so that he could breathe. Then the truck's interior lights went out, leaving them in the darkness. Moira's frantic thoughts quieted, and he heard her mind begin to recite, _"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want."_

Charles wanted to tell her that they weren't going to die here, not like this. But with a half-useless body, a truck that blocked his telepathy and tons of debris pinning them underwater, he was out of options. _I'm sorry, Moira._

 _Not your fault,_ she replied, sending a wave of mixed sorrow and affection back to him.

He pressed his forehead to hers, and joined her in the familiar litany. _"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me..."_

The water began to cover their head as they finished. _"…and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever."_

Just as their last bit of air disappeared, Charles took a deep breath, and pulled Moira into a tender kiss. It seemed a fitting way to say good-bye. While they embraced, he pushed a final command into her mind. _Go to sleep._ He couldn't save her, but at least he could give her a peaceful passage. Her body stilled in his arms.

Alone now, the air bubble completely gone, he retreated into his own mind; hoping the darkness would claim him before he realized he was drowning.

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Erik strained as he tried to lift the fallen section of bridge. He managed to pull one end out of the water, but as it rose, water running off in sheets, several large sections of concrete crumbled off and tumbled back into the depths, reburying the truck.

Suddenly, Sean was standing beside him, using his sonic blast to shatter the chunks of concrete into dust as Erik lifted them. Hank was standing there, too, guiding Sean to direct his blasts where they would do the most good. Together, the three quickly cleared the area around the truck. Meanwhile, Riptide and Angel stood guard against any further attack from the eastern bank.

Erik reached out again, willing the truck to move. This time, it broke free of the muck and began to rise. As swiftly as he could, he brought the truck to the surface and then lifted it onto the bridge. Trembling at what he would find, he pulled the door open. A wave of water washed out, briefly knocking him down. A still form was carried out by the wave, rolling to a stop at his feet. Moira. He looked into the truck, and saw Charles motionless, still strapped into the jump seat.

"Hank, help me," he called, his voice tinged with panic. The two rushed into the truck and unstrapped the motionless man; then gently carried him out and laid him down next to Moira.

Erik knelt beside Charles, put his head down, and listened carefully for a breath. There was none. He rolled Charles onto his side, and landed several sharp blows on his back. Charles coughed once, and water came gushing from his mouth and nose. Erik pounded again, and was rewarded with another bout of coughing and a deep breath. Charles would live. The sudden wave of relief caused Erik to sit back on his heels, and then sag to the ground. He buried his face in his arms.

He looked up when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Time to go," Riptide warned, with a glance back towards the eastern edge of the bridge.

Erik looked around. Sean was next to him, rather timidly patting Moira on the check. Hank stood nearby, just watching.

"That's not going to help her," Erik said.

"But she's breathing," Sean replied, his voice tinged with confusion. "I think she's just asleep."

"Then pick her up," Erik said, "and let's get out of here." Turning to Hank, he added, "We seem to have lost our ride. Would you mind giving us a lift?"

Hank's eyes widened, but he nodded. Together, he and Erik carried the telepath to the helicopter, while Sean and Riptide followed with Moira. Angel climbed in behind them. All together for the first and the last time, they swooped over to the eastern edge of the bridge.

There they found Alex with his hands on his head, once again in the custody of the military. A blast from Sean sent the soldiers to the ground, their helmets and weapons scattering in the wind. Alex ran to the helicopter as it descended to hover just a few feet in the air. He took a flying leap through the open side door, crashing into Sean and sending them both flying.

As they soared away into the night, Sean looked over at Alex. "That's two you owe me, buddy."


	10. Chapter 10

The constant throbbing of the helicopter's rotors finally dragged Charles out of the darkness. He moved as if to sit up, but a hand pressed to his chest, keeping him down.

"Stay there, Professor," he heard Sean's voice from somewhere above his head. And then, in mock-reproach: "You gave us all a scare."

Charles was instantly anxious. "Moira?" he gasped. His chest felt tight and painful; his heart was pounding and his breath was coming in gasps. And he was freezing.

"She's right here, and we think she's okay, but," Sean paused, "we can't get her to wake up."

"My doing," Charles replied, closing his eyes and putting two fingers to his temple. He couldn't remember his hand ever feeling so heavy. He had to do this carefully, so that she wouldn't wake in a panic, thinking they were still submerged in the truck. _Wake up, Moira. Be calm. We've been rescued._ He felt her mind stir in response, brightening like a candle touched by flame.

He allowed his hand to drop back to his side, and pressed his teeth together to keep them from chattering. Spoken conversation proving difficult, he switched to telepathy. _How is everyone else?_

"Hank is flying the helicopter and Alex is up there watching him. I think he's hoping that Hank will teach him how to be a pilot. And…"

A deeper voice interrupted. "And I'm here, too. Getting rather tired of rescuing you, you know."

Startled, Charles craned his neck in the direction of the voice. There was Erik, sitting across from him, wearing the helmet with a just the barest trace of a smile on his face. Of course, the helmet. Reaching out with his mind, Charles sensed Riptide and Angel, but no one else. He met Erik's eyes.

"Raven?" he rasped out.

"Is safe, though I have it on good report that she is furious with me for not allowing her to participate in this little operation."

Something about that statement seemed false to Charles, but he couldn't read Erik to determine the truth behind the statement and was too tired to ask. He shivered, then turned his face back to the ceiling; a position that was more comfortable both physically and emotionally.

"I'm sorry that you're still cold," Sean said. "Hank's got the heater as high as it will go. Your clothes were soaked, but we don't have any dry ones or blankets. Erik's jacket was the best that we could do."

Startled, Charles touched his chest and found that his shirt and lightweight wool jacket had been removed, and Erik's leather one was laid over him. This was followed by a brief moment of panic before another touch confirmed that he was still wearing his pants, though they were damp and sticky with salt water.

Three times, Charles thought, as he stared up at the ceiling of the helicopter. Three times in the past three weeks he'd passed out and then woken up somewhere else. It was getting to be a distressing habit.

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It was dawn when Hank set the Chinook down in a field next to a private airport not far from Atlanta, Georgia.

"Now the hard part," Hank said. "Let's hope we can find a pilot who's willing take us to New York without asking too many questions."

Alex had yet to unbluckle himself from the co-pilots' seat. "Why can't we just take the helicopter?"

Hank rolled his eyes. He put his index finger up. "One. Because we're already low on fuel, and I doubt the Army is going to let us fill up on one of their bases." He put up another finger. "Two. Because they probably have aerial patrols out looking for us, right now. If they spot us, they're going to shoot us down."

"I get it," Alex interrupted.

Hank put up one more finger. "Three. It's stealing. And it might sound silly, but as much as I like this particular bird, I don't feel right about keeping it. Okay? Now we'd better move quickly. The transponder will eventually lead them right here."

Moria's CIA identification, along with a generous amount of cash, proved sufficient to arrange a private flight to New York; though more than a few people at the terminal stopped to stare at her rumpled, still-damp clothing and bedraggled hair. Some additional cash convinced the pilot to use visual flight rules only, eliminating the need to file a flight plan. They even managed to secure some blankets and pillows, although a change of clothing was out of the question. Charles ensured that no one in the small airport would remember seeing them after they'd left. By the time the military discovered the abandoned helicopter, they had literally vanished without a trace.

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They said goodbye at the Westchester County Airport. The pilot had radioed ahead, so that a private car and a wheelchair were waiting for Charles and his group when they landed. Erik was well aware that Charles had plucked the location of their Montana safe house – and Raven – from Angel's head. So, he made no secret of their plans: the pilot would take them to Montana to retrieve Raven. Once safely away, they would settle in a new location.

Erik found himself having to look away when Hank lifted Charles from the airplane. It was bad enough to know that the telepath was paralyzed, but seeing him carried was somehow so much more painful than even seeing him in a wheechair. It drove home how broken his body was.

Seeing this, Hank growled softly in his throat at Erik. _You can't even look at him,_ he thought angrily. Gripping the handles of the wheelchair, Hank turned and set off with Charles as quickly as he could. By the time Erik looked back, they were halfway to the car. He flicked a finger, and the chair jerked out of Hank's grasp, turning around so that Erik could look Charles in the face. Hank moved as if to defend Charles, but there was enough metal in his clothing for Erik to push him back with ease.

"You're making a mistake, Charles," Erik snapped. "Haven't the events of the past month taught you anything? We need each other."

Charles wheeled himself the rest of the way back to Erik, searching his face for any sign of the friend he once knew. "Are you sure that I'm the one making a mistake?" he asked. "You don't have to do this, you know, go off to start a war with the entire human race. You could bring Raven back here; in fact, there is room for all of you." Charles' ever-so-dignified façade cracked, replaced by a frankly pleading tone. "Erik, I could use your help in starting the school; in helping Hank rebuild Cerebro. There's so much good that you and I could do as allies."

Erik allowed his imagination to take him back to the mansion, just for a moment. Then he shook his head. "You already know the answer." Charles winced, but he continued. "Allies have a common purpose, a shared goal. But you insist on chasing after an accommodation with humans. You were right when you said that we do not want the same things. We cannot be allies."

Charles gave him a look that was equal parts sorrow and determination. "If you do something that would cost lives – human or mutant – you must know that I will do everything in my power to stop you."

Erik nodded, but said nothing. It seemed there was nothing left to say. He started to turn away.

Charles broke the silence. "So, we cannot be allies," he said, giving Erik a tentative smile. "But, drinks by the fire, a game of chess – these are the things that friends do. If we cannot be allies, perhaps we could still be friends?"

It wasn't everything that either of them wanted, but it would have to do. Erik reached down and clasped Charles' hand. "Friends."

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It was the morning of the next day when Erik, Riptide and Angel finally walked back into the Montana lake house. As he walked in the door, Erik sensed something flying at him. He threw up his hands, but the projectile was made of cloth, not metal, and hit him full in the face.

He pulled it back to study it for a moment. It was a wad of thick, magenta cloth. Then he noticed that Mystique was standing there, naked, blue, and furious.

"What is this?" he asked.

"It's your cape," she snarled. "If you're going to act like a villian, you might as well look like one."

"Where did you … " he started, and then looked around the room. Sure enough, the magenta drapes were now missing from the living room window.

"I'm sorry, Mystique," he replied. "But your power is in stealth, not fighting, and I only wanted to keep you safe."

She swung a fist at him. "You had no right …"

He caught her arm, and continued holding it, pulling her close to him. "Yes, I had every right. I am the leader of this group, and you will listen to me as long as you wish to be part of this group." His face softened a bit. "But as this involved someone close to you, I should have given you a choice, rather than sending you off with Azazel like that."

Her arm relaxed, and he released it. She walked away for a few steps. Without turning around, she asked, "Where's Charles?"

"Charles is safe at his home, and the others are with him." She didn't react to this statement at all, and he wondered if the news made her happy or sad. _Probably both,_ he thought.

"And Azazel?"

"He said that he would see you as soon as he is able. So, are you feeling better now?"

"A little," she replied. "But I'm still not sure what I'm doing here." She turned and looked up at him with confusion in her eyes. "What are we all doing here? Taking up where Shaw left off?"

Now it was Erik's turn to be angry. "Unlike Shaw," he said, spitting out the name, "I am not planning to start a war on humanity. But we must be prepared to protect our kind by any means necessary. And that preparation is what we are doing here."

He put a hand on her cheek. "Raven, I want to create a world where you never have to hide: where none of us ever have to hide." He thought for a moment, and then wrapped the cape around his shoulders. "How did you make this?"

"I found a sewing kit in one of the bedrooms." She ducked her head in embarassment. "It gave me something to do after I'd broken all of the plates and glasses."

Erik laughed, noticing the destruction in the kitchen. "I'm glad you found a way to be more productive with your time." Then his face grew serious. "I want you to know what this cape means to me. It means not hiding. It means being proud of who we are. And I will wear it, in honor of you." He walked over to the mirror hanging on the far wall. "The color doesn't go with the helmet, though."

Raven grinned. "I can fix that."

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Once they were safely resettled at the mansion, Hank mumbled some excuses about 'work to do,' and disappeared into the basement, towing Sean and Alex behind him. He emerged several hours later with a set of blueprints and a shopping list. Meanwhile, Moria had located a phone book, and began looking for a physical therapist willing to work with Charles at home.

Concerned at Charles' wan complexion, one of the therapist's first actions was to prescribe long walks around the grounds. It quickly became a treasured part of Charles' daily routine, regardless of the weather. He would push the wheels until his arms ached, and then Moira would take over. As his upper body strength grew, he was able to take on more of the distance. It also gave him a respite from the near-constant barrage of sawing and hammering in the house, as the boys put in ramps, widened doors, lowered sinks, and removed thresholds.

After about a week, Hank emerged from the basement to present Charles with a new, all-plastic wheelchair.

Alex pointed proudly to the unique design of the spokes. "That was my idea," he said. "Get it – the letter X for Professor X?"

Sean rolled his eyes. "He gets it! And anyway, I believe that the X in the spokes was my idea."

But Charles just smiled, and thanked them graciously. He never thought he'd be grateful for a wheelchair, but he was, not the least because it was a reminder of the affection shared by his strange adopted family.

On one of their daily walks, Charles and Moira stopped to watch Hank and the boys as they tossed a football, chasing and tackling each other in something that only vaguely resembled the actual game. Without warning, Hank looked over and tossed the ball into Charles' lap.

"Throw it back," Hank prompted.

Charles had never played organized American-style football in school, both due to his slight frame and his studious nature. But he had learned how to pass in summertime pick-up games with his friends, so now he gripped the laces and sent the ball sailing back in a near-perfect spiral.

Alex gaped. "Professor, you've got an arm!"

From that point forward, the boys insisted on playing catch with Charles daily, as a warm-up for their more rambunctious games of tackle on the lawn. And if they noticed the color coming back into their Professor's face, his cheeks looking a little less hollow, and the dark circles under his eyes fading a bit – none of them mentioned it.


	11. Chapter 11

It was late in the evening, and Charles sat shirtless at his newly-lowered sink, studying himself in the mirror. The daily trips around the grounds with Moira had done him quite a bit of good. He'd gotten a touch of color in his face, and his upper body had tone and definition that he'd never imagined for himself. And he still had great hair. He tossed the washcloth over the faucet and reached back for his robe.

He sensed Moira entering the room. Curious about what she wanted at such a late hour, and without really thinking about what he was doing, he reached out to her mind. For a moment, he saw himself as she saw him; attractive, young, and bare-chested. He flushed in a combination of embarrassment and another feeling that was . . . something other than embarrassment. She doesn't seem to see the chair at all, he thought.

"Charles," was all that she said, and then she was behind him, and her hand was on his bare shoulder, a question in her touch.

 _Moira,_ he thought. _We can't do this._

She hesitated, and then stroked her hand down his arm. _Yes, we can._

He reached up and caught her hand in his. "Tomorrow you must return to your position at the CIA. If you stay with me tonight, I couldn't bear to let you go."

"After what happened in Cuba, I don't want to go back to the CIA. They betrayed me as well as you." She knelt beside his chair. "And these weeks, here with you . . . Please let me stay."

He interrupted, taking her other hand and squeezing them gently. "But we need you there: me, Hank, the boys, all of our kind. We need every friend we can get in the government. You can be a voice for reason and understanding. We have no one else."

She knelt next to his chair, so that she could look into his eyes. "As if they'd listen to a woman agent, a potentially compromised one at that. I can do more good here. I can help with the school . . . I can help care for you."

"The boys and I will manage."

"Yes, right, you'll manage," Moira replied, a slight tremble in her voice. "I'll bet there are dishes in the sink right now. And while Hank is mature enough to be on his own, Alex and Sean still need . . . "

Charles' eyebrows shot up. "A mother?" He laughed gently, "Will you give up your career at the CIA to play Wendy for a group of Lost Boys?" He glanced at his legs. "I don't think I make a very good Peter Pan."

He instantly realized he'd said the wrong thing. Offended, she stalked to a nearby chair and sat down. "No, you're much too mature to be the boy who never grows up. Sometimes I wonder if you weren't born an old man." She hid her face in her hands.

"Moira, I am so, so, sorry," he replied, wheeling himself over to her. He put a hand under her chin, lifting it gently to look in her eyes. "I didn't mean to hurt you. But I know you. You've worked too hard to earn your position. And you have a family that love you, and friends who will miss you. You can't hide here with us for the rest of your life. If things were different, if we didn't have to hide…" his voice trailed off. "And we need you at the CIA."

She shook her head. "They won't trust me, after I've been out of touch for four weeks. And…you know that I took an oath of secrecy. Even if they do take me back, I won't consciously betray that trust."

"If all I needed was information, I could take that from anyone there," he pointed out. "But you can trust me, Moira. I will never do anything to compromise you."

"Charles," she said, and now her voice did break. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

 _I want a great many things,_ he thought, _including many things I cannot have._ In that moment, he was glad that he was the telepath and not her: for if she could have read his thoughts, she might never have left. But instead, he nodded silently, afraid his voice would betray him.

A single tear escaped to roll down her cheek. "Then I'll leave tomorrow," she said. "Good night, Charles."

The next day, they took their last walk together.

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Erik sat on the back porch of the cabin in Santa Fe, watching the sunset paint the desert landscape in shades of purple, orange and magenta. While the sky darkened, he floated a crumpled bullet over and around his fingers. It was more than a just a souvenir to him: now that Shaw was gone, it was a constant reminder of his new purpose in life. Even if Charles couldn't see it, the events in Cuba were undeniable proof: humans would wipe out his kind, given the power and opportunity. It was up to him to gather and prepare them for the inevitable conflict. And, too, the bullet reminded him of the terrible cost of their betrayal.

With that thought, he realized how much harm he had done to the female telepath. Moreover, his cause needed her particular talents. He slipped the bullet into his pocket. It was time to right the wrong he'd done in delivering one of his own kind into the hands of the enemy.

It was time to rescue Emma Frost.


End file.
